


Bloodletting

by dgalerab



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Excessive Detail About Drinking Blood, Hypnotism, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Temporary Character Death, Vampire Eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 22:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab
Summary: Eddie dies.Except then he's not dead. He's just really, really hungry.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 36
Kudos: 386





	Bloodletting

**Author's Note:**

> honestly idk how to warn for all the stuff in this fic other than to let you know there is genuinely period blood drinking so like. that's a thing. a thing i've done.
> 
> there's also mentions of sex, but no actual sex happens
> 
> idk let me know if i missed anything obvious that i should have wrote for, i bingewrote this in 2 hours like a madman and i genuinely don't even know where i am anymore

“Hey, what’s a weasel order at the bar?” Richie says, kicking in the door to their house. “Pop!”

No one laughs. No one gripes at him either.

They just stare.

He laughs nervously. “Do I have something on my face?”

Bev reaches out for him. “Honey, you may want to sit,” she says, and guides him into the nearest armchair.

He feels sick. He scans their faces and  _ oh, fuck, where’s Eddie where’s Eddie where’s Eddie? _

“Um,” Bev says, “there’s no good way to say this, but the police were just here. They found Eddie’s body.”

“What?” Richie manages.

“He’s dead,” Bev says. “I’m so sorry.”

Richie’s been lied to about grief. He’s been told the first stage is denial - he’s supposed to be allowed a few more minutes in which Eddie is still alive in his brain, but he doesn’t get them. He goes straight to crying. If anything, it feels more like his brain hasn’t quite caught up with how much it fucking  _ hurts, _ but hurt it does.

Bev wraps her arms around him, and the rest of them follow, but it’s a small comfort while Richie weeps.

**

He spends the next day and a half in bed.

He can’t stop crying. Constant, loud weeping with his whole body. He knows Eddie would snap at him to take care of himself, so he keeps eating and drinking water like a robot stuck in a routine, but it’s difficult to eat when you’re crying too hard to swallow. 

The Losers take shifts curling up next to him, but at the moment it’s Stan’s turn and he’s in the shower, leaving Richie alone to press his face into the pillows and let all the gut wrenching cries out of his chest.

There’s an incessant tapping at his window, but he doesn’t care.

If there’s some crazy-ass bird out there like some kind of Edgar Allan Poe novel, Richie’s not in the mood.

It stops.

Richie listens to Stan turning the water off, a faint rustling as he gets dressed.

A moment later, there’s a knocking at the door.

“I’ve got it,” Bev calls softly. She’s been crying about as steadily as Richie, but instead of his wild weeping, she’s just been silently dripping tears down her face and going about her day, taking care of all of them.

She screams.

Richie is beyond sluggish, but that’s enough to drag him out of bed and into the living room.

The door is open as Bev backs up, looking for a weapon.

The others run out, Ben racing to get to Bev, Mike wielding a heavy flashlight, Bill a paperweight.

But Richie can only stare at the figure in the door.

It’s Eddie.

It’s as Eddie as anything could be Eddie right now.

He starts forward, on instinct, because Eddie looks terrified (and sure, his entire face is covered in so much blood it’s dripping down his chin and the way it’s smeared makes it look a hell of a lot like it’s not his own blood, but it’s  _ Eddie) _ and he needs Richie.

Stan grabs him and wrenches him back. “That’s not Eddie,” he hisses. “It can’t be Eddie.”

“It is me,” Eddie insists. “I’m… I woke up in the morgue and I… Jesus I nearly killed a guy and there’s blood in my mouth and it’s so gross and there’s so many fucking diseases you can get from literally fucking swallowing someone else’s blood and I nearly  _ killed _ him but I think he was still alive when I left because I realized and I panicked and…”

Richie tugs against Stan’s hold. That’s Eddie. That’s as Eddie as Eddie gets.

“If you’re Eddie what’s the first thing you said to me?” Mike asks, brandishing the flashlight.

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know!” Eddie yells. “It was after we started the rock fight and maybe you said something about Bowers fucking coming after us and I said something about how he was after us anyway? I don’t know if that was the first, but…”

“Pennywise can mimic other people,” Ben says. “It’s convincing, too.”

“I’m not fucking Pennywise!” Eddie shouts. “Jesus! We’re not even in Derry!”

“It’s  _ Eddie,” _ Richie says, straining against Stan. “Look at him! It’s fucking Eddie, what the fuck!”

“Why haven’t you come inside?” Bill asks.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I can’t.”

Richie fights Stan away and runs to Eddie, grabbing his hand and tugging. Eddie just stands there, feet planted, like Richie’s entire weight is nothing to him.

Richie looks at the rest of them desperately. Eddie is here, Eddie isn’t dead, and yet he can’t come inside.

“Richie, get a-away from him,” Bill murmurs.

“No!” Richie yells. “No, it’s Eddie, we have to…!”

Bill nods. “I know. But please, j-just come here.”

Eddie withdraws his hand and nods at Richie.

Richie glances between them, feeling an overwhelming sense of betrayal, but he trudges over to Bill, letting Bill press Richie behind him.

“You’re welcome to come inside, E-Eddie,” Bill says.

Eddie steps inside and closes the door. “Thanks.”

There’s an awkward moment where everyone waits to see what will happen next.

“There is  _ blood _ in my  _ mouth,” _ Eddie says finally. “It’s  _ disgusting.” _

Richie runs forward to throw his arms around Eddie. He’s crying again.

Eddie takes his weight easily, but he doesn’t hug back. He’s freezing cold. “Your heartbeat is so fucking loud,” he whispers.

Richie draws back. “C’mon,” he says, wiping the tears away. “C’mon, lets get you washed up.”

He takes Eddie’s hand - Eddie’s very, very cold hand - and drags him into the bathroom.

Eddie shrugs off his clothes, down to the boxers, and there’s blood all the way down his chest. Richie should probably think about that more than he is, but his mind’s clogged up with a loud chant of  _ Eddie Eddie Eddie _ and he’s helping Eddie into the tub without question.

He turns on the water nice and warm and gets a cloth, wetting it so he can start wiping away the blood.

“I thought you were dead,” he says. He laughs. “Can you believe? Like you’d ever die so easily.”

“Richie…” Eddie murmurs.

Oh, and there’s the denial. Richie knows it’s there, but he lets it happen nonetheless. “Oh, man, I’ve been crying like a fuckin’ idiot, you should have seen. A real baby, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie says faintly.

“Yeah, there you are,” Richie says, chuckling as he scrubs the blood off Eddie’s face. “It’s okay now, though, because you’re back. So problem solved.”

“Richie,” Eddie says, and there’s a warning there, but Richie ignores it. Ignores it violently, vehemently, by putting his thumb on Eddie’s bottom lip and pushing his mouth open.

The fangs set off some muffled warning bells in the back of Richie’s brain, but he’s all in because he needs Eddie to be  _ alive _ . So he just starts cleaning those too, wiping at them with the cloth.

Eddie grabs his wrist and pulls Richie’s hand away from his fangs. “Rich,” he says.

At this point, Richie would be willing to listen to a few of the wailing sirens inside his head, but one by one they shut off. He can’t stop staring at Eddie’s eyes. They’re a different color than he remembers, something yellowish and all encompassing.

Eddie’s grip on his hand is way too strong. Richie couldn’t pull away from it, but he doesn’t want to try.

“I’m so fucking hungry, Rich,” Eddie whispers.

Richie couldn’t respond if he tried. The words simply aren’t there.

His head falls to the side, exposing his throat, which just feels very normal. Very safe. So, so safe to expose your neck to a pair of very long, very sharp fangs. Absolutely safe.

“God, just  _ so _ hungry…” Eddie whispers.

“Eddie!” someone shouts, and Richie drops to the floor like a marionette with strings cut.

His ears are ringing and he really can’t figure out what’s going on.

Someone’s touching him, things are moving. He can’t tell if he’s wearing his glasses or not but his limbs aren’t working and he can’t follow the flurry of movement around him.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t… I didn’t… Richie? Richie! Oh, God, please say something, please, please!” someone is saying, and there’s a chorus of other people saying his name and smacking his face and it’s all so much and so hard to focus on.

“Hrrnwha?” he manages.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, get him away from me, please please…” Eddie says, sobbing.

Richie reaches out for him, trying to soothe the distress. “Sssh, no crying,” he says. “You’re alive, isssokay.”

“No, Richie,” Eddie says, between sobs. “I’m not.”

Richie’s brain jolts back onto the right track a little, and he suddenly gets it. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, right.”

**

The others keep him away from Eddie after that. He’s angry at them until he realizes it’s mostly by Eddie’s request. Then he’s just hurt.

But days tick by, and they stop babysitting him quite so much, and eventually, Richie runs into Eddie while Eddie’s throwing away a double bagged load of trash and getting out some bleach from under the counter.

“What’s that?” Richie asks.

Eddie stares at him for a moment, then avoids his eyes. “A shitton of bloodless rats,” he says.

“Oh,” Richie says. “Does that help?”

“I’m not as hungry,” Eddie mutters.

“Not good food, eh?” Richie asks.

“No,” Eddie snaps. “It’s a  _ bunch of fucking rats.” _

Richie goes quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbles. “It’s just… you know when you go to someone else’s house and they serve you dinner and it’s not very good but you choke it down because it’s the right thing to do? And no matter how hungry you are you’re appalled by how much more food there is on the plate.”

“Is this you way of telling me my mom can’t cook?” Richie teases.

Eddie looks up at him, tired.

“You want human blood,” Richie murmurs.

“I nearly…” Eddie chokes out. “I couldn’t think, I just nearly…”

“It’s okay,” Richie says.

“It’s not fucking okay!” Eddie shouts. “None of this is okay, but least of all the fact that I could have killed you!”

“You wouldn’t have killed me,” Richie murmurs. He’s absolutely positive of that.

“Fuck off, Rich,” Eddie says, grabbing the bleach and some rubber gloves.

“Do you even need those gloves?” Richie asks. “Like, does your skin even get irritated by bleach anymore?”

“I don’t care,” Eddie says. “I just want to clean my goddamn room of rat carcass smell and this is how I’m used to cleaning.”

“Okay,” Richie says. “Sorry.”

**

After two weeks, Eddie starts hanging out with them again.

He used to curl up next to Richie, but now he perches in the windowsill, far from any of them.

Richie misses him. It hurts, because Eddie’s not dead and yet he’s still  _ gone. _ He’s right in front of them and still so far. Richie hasn’t gotten in a single mom joke since the incident, because Eddie avoids him or snarls at him whenever he’s close. He looks so tired, so grim, so  _ hungry… _

Richie just wants to fix it.

He pauses the movie they’re watching and looks at Eddie. “C’mon, Eds,” he says. “You can come closer than that.”

“I can hear your heartbeat from here,” Eddie says.

“So no big difference, eh?” Richie tries.

Eddie looks at him, harrowed expression clawing into Richie’s heart. “Yes big difference, Richie. Very big difference.”

Richie looks him in the eyes, knowing that this isn’t something he should push. He doesn’t want to drive Eddie away anymore, but it  _ hurts. _ He wavers a moment longer, then hits play again.

Bev snuggles up to him, but that only soothes the pain a little.

**

“So, this is going to be very, very gross,” Bev says. They’ve just eaten dinner, and Eddie’s sitting on the counter, watching enviously even as they put their dishes in the sink.

“Grosser than eating rats?” Eddie mutters.

“Maybe,” Bev says. “But I’ve been thinking. I can use a cup.”

Eddie cocks his head, not getting it.

“A diva cup,” Bev says. “Every month.”

Eddie gags loudly.

She winces in sympathy. “Yeah. But it’s something, right?”

“It’s  _ disgusting,” _ Eddie says. “But…” He gags again. “Oh, fuck, it’s…” Another gag, “... worth a try.”

She nods. “Just try not to think about it.”

**

If it wasn’t so damn serious, it would be fucking hysterical. For one, there’s a fucking cup of period blood that they’ve had in their fridge for a week. (One with a screw cap and which Eddie had religiously wet wiped every hour.) Second, Eddie keeps sniffing it, licking his lips, then gagging.

“Just chug it,” Richie says. “Like a shot. C’mon, get in there.”

“Could you shut the actual fuck up?” Eddie says, fangs fully extended. “God! Fuck!”

“Look, it’s gonna taste amazing, just stop thinking about what it is and do it!” Richie says.

“Ugh!” Eddie says, but he does chug it. He shudders, but a moment later he’s frantically licking the cup clean. He sets his head on his knee and groans. “Oh, that was so good. Oh my god.”

“I mean, it was period blood,” Richie says, just to watch Eddie gag again.

“You  _ asshole,” _ Eddie snaps, but it feels so goddamn  _ normal. _

**

Eddie finally loosens up after that. He sits on top of the couch like some kind of gargoyle, but Richie can lean back and feel his hair brush against Eddie’s thigh and it’s an absolutely wild jolt of relief every time.

Eventually, Stan sits down with a set of papers, spreading them out over the table. “So the um…” He clears his throat. “Bev’s contribution is… about 30 mililiters a month, right? And it cuts down the amount of rats Eddie eats by nearly ten percent. So if we do the math, about 300 milliliters a month of human blood should do it, right?”

“Milliliters?” Richie says. “What is this, England?”

Stan ignores him. “According to medical guidelines, a person can safely donate 350 milliliters of blood every three months. And there’s six of us.”

“Uh-huh,” Richie says. “So we have more than enough, is what you’re saying?”

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie says. “No way. You guys can’t just…”

“Why not?” Richie says.

“Richie, could you not be a fucking moron for once in your life?” Eddie snaps. 

“No, I’m being serious. You’ve been way better just from guzzling down a bit of period blood every month, you’d probably be less dangerous,” Richie says.

“But what if I don’t know how to stop?” Eddie asks.

“We’ll collect the blood into bags,” Mike says.

“Do you have any fucking idea how many things can go wrong with that?” Eddie snaps. “You’re sticking a needle into your vein, there are so many things that can…”

“We’ll take nursing courses,” Ben says. “We’ll learn how to do it right.”

Eddie throws his hands up and storms off. “Fuck you guys!” he yells.

“Who wants to take nursing courses?” Bill asks.

None of them put their hands up.

Stan sighs. “I’ll get the straws.”

**

Richie and Bev draw the short straws, so they end up taking nursing classes. They can’t stop giggling throughout any of them, and it’s a miracle they don’t get kicked out.

**

They draw straws again when it comes to who donates their blood first. Eddie locks himself into his room while they do it.

Richie draws the short straw again, along with Mike, so he’s left with the task of not laughing as Bev sticks a needle in him, despite the fact that there’s so many puns to be made.

He feels woozy after, but not too woozy. Mike doesn’t seem affected at all.

They clean up everything, but Eddie bleaches the whole room again just in case, and then sits and stares at the bags of blood.

Richie hands him a straw.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Eddie asks.

“Stick it in there and drink it like a Capri Sun,” Richie says. “Obviously.”

Eddie glowers at him, but he takes the straw nonetheless. He doesn’t stick it in the bag like a Capri Sun, but he does slide it in the top and bring it to his mouth.

The second he tastes it, he moans. “Oh, that’s good,” he says. “Oh, God, I’m so hungry. Fuck.”

“Better than the period blood?” Richie asks.

“So much better,” Eddie whines. “Oh, fuck, I feel like I’ve been eating dirt for months and now this is  _ food.” _

Richie grins, very pleased as he watches Eddie guzzle down the whole damn bag in a few seconds, licking up every drop he can get at like it’s the best tasting thing he’s ever experienced.

“Better?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Do you think… can I have the other one too?” he asks, wide-eyed as he glances around at them.

“I mean, we do have twice as much as we need,” Stan offers.

“Live a little, ya little rat-eater,” Richie says.

Eddie takes a sip and then stops. “This is Richie’s?” he asks.

Stan leans over to check the bag. “Yeah. You can tell?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie breathes, nodding.

Richie laughs. “Care to elaborate?”

“No,” Eddie says, and drinks down the blood with just as much vigor as the last one.

**

When he drinks enough blood, Eddie can go into the sun. He finds this out by carefully sticking his hand under the curtains, and after several tests, he goes out and lays spread eagle on the law until it starts to burn.

Richie watches him, grinning ear to ear, more relieved than he can explain to see Eddie fucking  _ happy _ again.

**

“You taste so much better than the rest of them,” Eddie says, at some point, licking his fangs as Richie dries his hair, watching the way Richie accidentally swipes the towel over his neck.

“Really?” Richie asks.

“Mhmm,” Eddie says.

“Good enough to make you wanna drink from the tap?” Richie asks.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says. “So bad.”

Richie laughs nervously. “Is this, like, a sex thing?”

“A little,” Eddie murmurs.

“Oh,” Richie manages. “Um.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his. “Sorry. I’m sorry, that was  _ way  _ out of line, I’m so…”

“No,” Richie says. “Um. I uh.” He’d thought this would be his secret forever, and then Eddie had died without Richie ever having told him how he felt and now he’s not dead and he’d just said to Richie’s face that he wants a sex thing - a sex-but-also-I-want-to-eat-you-thing, but still a…

Eddie steps into his space, setting his hand on Richie’s cheek. He’s not as cold anymore, not with a regular supply of human blood. “Hey,” he says. “Is that heartbeat good or bad?”

“I don’t want to do a sex thing with you unless it means something,” Richie blurts out, because fuck it, he’d let Eddie die without ever being brave enough to tell him how he feels, he’s not going to keep hiding it when Eddie’s literally asking.

Eddie blinks at him. “Means something?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, and he might just break down right there and cry if Eddie doesn’t take this well. “I’m in love with you. So in love. When I thought you died, I was… It hurt so bad and I can’t be without you because I love you and I’ll love you forever.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, and then smiles slowly. “Richie.”

Richie whimpers, needing Eddie to say something clear, a simple yes or no, just make it clear where Richie stands.

“C’mere,” Eddie murmurs, pulling him in for a kiss.

Richie kisses him hard and it’s a good thing Eddie has superhuman strength, because Richie’s knees give out and Eddie’s the only thing holding him up. He nearly passes out, because Eddie doesn’t need to breathe and Richie would kiss him until he turned blue and it takes Eddie a second to realize Richie intends to choke to death on this kiss.

“I love you too, you dumb fuck,” Eddie says, scooping Richie up easily to get him on the bed and continue this.

**

Of course, Eddie doesn’t let them do any sex-food-biting willy nilly.

He times how long it takes him to drain a bag, notes down the time and then enlists Bev to monitor them.

Richie’s glad it’s Bev because she takes it all in stride, but she also keeps fucking  _ laughing _ and then Richie’s laughing and he can’t get turned on if he keeps laughing with Bev.

But this is the safety run, and at least Eddie’s on board, so it’s okay.

He gets into bed, squirming on the rubber sheets Eddie put down to catch the blood, Bev with her stopwatch in the armchair next to them, and lets Eddie straddle him. “Hey,” Eddie says.

“Hi,” Richie replies, grinning.

“Still feel okay about this?” Eddie asks.

“Yep,” Richie murmurs. “Eat me up, Dracula.”

Bev tries not to laugh.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Rich, look me in the eyes.”

Richie does his best to put on a serious face and do as he’s told. There’s that odd yellow again. A golden haze that spreads through Richie’s brain like a cloud, settling over his every thought and muffling it.

Eddie’s hand is in his hair, pulling his head to the side.

_ Yes, _ Richie thinks,  _ this is good. This is all how it’s supposed to happen. _

His limbs feel heavy. Moving would be too hard, so he won’t try. 

Eddie’s eyes follow his as he leans down, and Richie feels very content. This is good. Very good. Richie is very, very safe right now. Don’t mind the teeth.

Eddie has to break their eye contact to bite him, and Richie feels very dizzy all of the sudden.

And then it fucking  _ hurts. _ There’s fangs tearing through his skin and it’s sharp and intense and awakens some kind of primal panic pounded into his brain by survival of whatever-monkey-was-smart-enough-not-to-get-fucking-eaten. He pulls away on instinct, but Eddie holds him firmly.

He wouldn’t be able to escape even if he was seriously trying, Richie realizes, but by then the panic drops away.

The pain fades out into something pleasurable and sticky, radiating from his throat to the rest of his body.

His limbs don’t feel heavy. In fact, all of him seems weightless. But moving seems pointless. Why would he want to move? Eddie’s here, everything is nice…

Eddie moves against him, pressing his fangs in a little further, and Richie whimpers as the pleasure gets more raw, more intense. Gripping him and squeezing, making him feel warm and safe but also  _ more. _

He wonders what it’d be like to be fucked right now.

He thinks it’d feel amazing.

Eddie’s hand slides behind his back and pulls him into an arch, and Richie cries out, white hot pleasure shooting up his spine.

And then suddenly Eddie’s fangs are gone and he’s licking at Richie’s neck.

Someone’s saying something.

Are they talking to him?

Hands are in his hair, stroking and pushing and Richie’s face is being turned to look into Eddie’s eyes. Brown eyes. Normal brown eyes.

“Richie? Rich. Hey. Please say something,” a voice is saying from somewhere distant.

“Something,” Richie says, and it’s not even a joke, it’s just an obedient little word that spills out of his mouth because he was told to say it.

Eddie groans, in that very Eddie-like way, and Richie realizes that Eddie’s been talking to him.

“Yes?” he says, because he should have been listening to Eddie, probably.

“C’mon, wake up,” Eddie says.

Richie’s not sure if he does because the effect is wearing off or if he’s doing it because Eddie told him to, but everything gets a lot clearer all of the sudden. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asks.

“Are you okay, mostly,” Eddie says. 

“Oh,” Richie says, shaking some clarity into his head. “Um. Yes.”

He feels shaky and weak and his head aches, but he’s okay.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Here, try to eat and drink.”

Richie’s hands are shaking as Bev presses some chocolate and a juice box into his hands, and Eddie helps him eat and drink.

He feels more lucid after that. “Was that good for you?” he asks hopefully.

“You have no idea,” Eddie says. His lips are still red with Richie’s blood.

“Boy, that was a fun ride,” Richie says, sitting up slowly. His head’s spinning. “Fuck. When can we do it again?”

“In three months,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Richie says. “Oh yeah.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “But in the meantime, you get cuddles.”

Bev snorts. “I’ll head out. Well done not killing Richie, Eddie.”

Eddie nods at her sagely as she leaves.

Richie perks up at the notion of cuddling. “Oh, hey, you think you can do the thing with the eyes while cuddling me? It feels so safe and warm…”

“God, could you feel at least a little bit of anxiety about the fact that I literally want to eat you?”

“No,” Richie says. “How about them cuddles, then, eh?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, stripping off the rubber sheets so he can pull Richie under the sheets. “You’re so fucking stupid and I love you so much.”

Richie grins and accepts the hug, snuggling against Eddie and closing his eyes. “Love you too, ya little bat.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm dgalerab on tumblr and everything i write is both soft AND extremely fucking weird so you know. come say hi.


End file.
